


Sat On a Fence But It Don't Work

by flippyspoon



Series: Pour Some Sugar on Me [9]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: First comes the fear.





	Sat On a Fence But It Don't Work

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Under Pressure." Mercury. Bowie. You know the thing. Credit to Bojack Horseman. If you watch it you'll immediately know what I'm talking about lol.

 

_You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?_

The voice came from within Steve’s own head. It had been doing that lately.

First had come the fear. The fear was everywhere.

Steve tapped his bat on the dirt ground. It was midnight in the woods.

There was nobody around yet everything seemed loud, not least the pounding of his own heart.

He heard a rustle of branches and whipped around. He chased the sound for a few minutes and saw nothing. He had a flashlight. His hand was shaking as he scanned around him for something _anything_.

_Real piece of shit._

His father had given him quite a talk the day before.

“We put a lot of faith in you, Steven.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that.”

He’d stood in his father’s office, his hands in the pockets. His father sat behind his desk, not deigning to look at Steve. He was looking at...work. Whatever his father did. Finance. Steve would be doing it soon. Without a degree, to the shame of...well, possibly even dead relatives according to both his mother and his father.

“I’ll do what I can for you,” his father said with a sigh. “We should have seen it. College isn’t for everyone.”

_Stupid._

He’d stood there feeling as if the room was suddenly big, too big, a cavernous hall where his father’s words echoed, bouncing off the walls and punching him in the face.

“You’ve never exactly been an academic,” his father glanced at him over the rim of his glasses.

 _Stupid piece of shit_.

“But we did trust you to at least get this done.”

 _Worthless piece of shit_.

“I tried to…” Steve had licked his lips, so fully humiliated it was difficult to form words. “I mean it’s not like I’m not graduating.”

“People expect parents to help out their children,” his father said, sitting back in his chair. His father had silver hair. He was only about fifty. Steve had once been fascinated by their wedding photos when his father had enjoyed rich brown hair like his. It didn’t seem possible. His dad had always been this age, it felt like. A successful man who knew what he was doing, who probably cheated on his wife, and who was not particularly interested in his son as a person. The wife he cheated on wasn’t anymore interested in Steve either. While his father had spoken to him, his mother was in the living room watching _Dynasty_ , going through her Day Runner.

“I’ll do what I can for you,” his father said. “Maybe we can find something...suited to wherever your talents lie.”

 _Stupid fucking piece of shit_.

He’d been having nightmares.

“ _Steve!” Dustin’s hand was outstretched. D’art had betrayed him. “Steve! Please!”_

He’d wake up sweating.

When he couldn’t sleep, he went to the woods.

 _Idiot piece of shit, there’s nothing out here_.

It felt real though. Wasn’t there a chance? His brain said so. Sometimes his brain was absolutely convinced that The Gate was open, that the monsters were back, that they were after people he cared about. He’d called the Henderson house in the middle of the night three times already. They never answered that late. That was bad. What if he’d been right? Twice when they didn’t answer, Steve had sat on his bed, panicking into the morning. Once when they hadn’t answered, Steve had driven out to the Hendersons and parked in front of the place for two hours before going home.

Needless to say, he was not sleeping well.

It was senior year though. Senior year was cake, even for an idiot like him. He went to school everyday and ate mechanically and tried to ignore Nancy and Jonathan being cute and coupley and talking about intellectual things while Steve sat at lunch wondering if the Mind Flayer virus had spread and they didn’t know it.

Billy Hargrove was at least ignoring him, except on the court, but Steve didn’t mind that. Not sleeping was fucking with his energy and making him almost giddy with exhaustion by the time gym rolled around. He’d been going hard in gym, not letting Hargrove get away with anything. Hargrove seemed to _love_ it.

“Look at you! Playing tough! King Steve, aggressive on the court!”

Steve stayed in the woods another hour and went home, not feeling better.

At lunch one day Nancy was talking about some TV movie she’d watched when Steve said, “Do you think anything survived from the Upside Down?”

He probably said it too loudly. Jonathan and Nancy glanced at each other and Nancy said in a hushed voice, “Why do you think that? Have you seen something?”

“I dunno…” Steve said. “No. I…”

She frowned at him and he felt stupid again. He couldn’t explain to her how sure he was sometimes that there were demodogs out and about and ready to kill him or Dustin or Lucas or Nancy or somebody… How he _felt_ a malevolent presence like a heaviness on his shoulders. He certainly wasn’t about to go into the debilitating panic that had him occasionally hiding in bathrooms.

Once he’d ditched an entire class just to sit on top of a toilet in the boys’ room breathing into his hands, thinking either he was dying or there was a demogorgon about to come through the wall.

But then, he was stupid.

  
  


One day after school Steve punched Billy Hargrove.

The craziest part was that Billy didn’t do anything wrong. Or maybe the craziest part was that Steve had never thrown the first punch at anyone in his life.

“Hey, pretty boy! Play some ball with me?” It was _friendly_ , as Billy caught up to him in the parking lot. Which was fucking bizarre. Steve had been loitering by his car, staring at his shoes, wondering if he was too stupid for whatever job his father would pick out for him-he worried about that a lot and then something else would jump onto that fear like, _oh shit what if the dead demodog we buried in that freezer actually comes alive because we don’t know what they can do they could be zombies-_

“Harrington! C’mon. You’re the only one who plays hard anymore-”

“Leave me alone!” Steve shouted in his face, a little wild-eyed, hands gripping the straps of his backpack.

“What’s your problem, asshole?”

The nerve of the question struck him just the wrong way and Steve whipped around and punched Billy in the face, not a perfect shot, but respectable. It hurt his hand. He stood there a moment, shaking his fingers out, catching his breath. Billy’s nose bled. He grinned at Steve, reaching up to dab at the blood with his finger as if checking that it was real.

“I’ll give you that one,” Billy said, and walked away.

Steve went home that night and sat around struggling to do homework while thinking about that Mind Flayer virus. Eventually he quit doing homework and watched _Cheers_. Then his arm started itching. A simple random everyday itch, but he thought of the Upside Down and how little they knew about it and his arm started to itch more and then he felt a tingling in his feet and then his heart started pounding and then he was sure a mole on the back of his arm was suspiciously dark and did that mean something what if there was something there under his skin _something crawling_...

He wanted to call Hopper who knew that one lab guy who wasn’t evil. Maybe the lab guy knew something about it, like if there were known symptoms of some other mysterious Upside Down Virus. But it would sound so _stupid_ to call Hopper because his arm itched, but that mole-

 _You fucking stupid idiot_.

Instead he crawled into bed early and played music and lay there, full of fear for hours, until he caught a little sleep. He dreamed Barb was shouting at him. He hadn’t cared enough about Barb, that had been so shitty. He dreamed Nancy was dead and woke up thinking Nancy was dead and it was so real he almost started crying until he remembered Nancy was perfectly fine.

The next day he was so tired.

Billy bothered him after school again.

He was bruised where Steve had punched him. He was also bruised around his neck. Steve didn’t even remember touching his neck.

“Ball?”

Billy was carrying a basketball. Steve nearly said, “Yes, I know it’s a ball.”

Instead he said, “Why are you bugging me?”

Billy rolled his eyes and said, “I _like_ playing basketball.”

Steve wondered if Billy actually wanted to play with him or if no one else wanted to play with Billy.

Steve’s parents were home. He would have to sit across from his dad at dinner who he had always known  wasn’t particularly interested in him and who also thought he was completely worthless.

 _Worthless piece of shit_.

And, between Steve and God and demodogs: Steve loved playing basketball with Billy Hargrove.

At least he did _now_.

“Okay.”

Billy was obnoxious, that was a given. He talked trash whenever possible and scrutinized every move Steve made. He also hooted when Steve did well and applauded as if it were an event. Steve couldn’t account for it accept that he supposed Billy appreciated good basketball.

Billy had gone so far as to say things like, “ _That_ is offence, you morons. What Harrington’s doing, you buncha pussies.”

When he wasn’t talking, he was making Steve work for it. At this point basketball felt like the one last pure thing in the universe, so Steve met Billy where he was. He’d never played so hard in his life, not even to impress his father at one of the few games he’d attended (not that it had ever worked).

  
  


Steve followed Billy to an outside court and because Billy was going to the trouble to change into his shorts, Steve followed suit since they were in his backpack anyway, though they were getting pretty rank.

Billy let Steve toss the ball up and then Steve played as if he’d invented the game. He couldn’t account for it. The air was cold, it was only March. But it felt clean and alive on his skin as he dodged Billy, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the slick pavement. He felt wind in his hair, cold drops of sweat trickling down his neck, and his feet stuck like glue when Billy tried to bowl him over but they moved like Michael Jackson’s as he danced just out of Billy’s grasp. It _felt_ like dancing. If he’d played like this his whole high school career he would’ve gotten scholarships anywhere. His shots were full of power and grace; _swoosh_.

Steve kept going too; no breaks, no stopping. They hadn’t even settled on what to play to, they’d just started playing. Billy barely got his hands on the ball. Steve felt like air, like Kareem, Larry Bird, Magic fucking Johnson-

“Holy shit,” Billy muttered, and abruptly lay down on the ground in the middle of the game, arms outstretched on the pavement. His sweaty chest heaving.

“Christ, Harrington. Are you _on_ something? I’ve never even.... Christ…”

Steve let the ball drop and stood for a moment, just breathing, looking at Billy on the ground, who stared up at him, astonished. He could not for the life of him remember when he had felt this good. When things had seemed perfect with Nancy, he supposed.

He pulled off his shirt and mopped his face.

He plopped down on the ground next to Hargrove. “That was a good game,” he muttered.

Billy burst out laughing. “ _Yeah_. For you.” He pointed up at Steve. “If you do find my balls, give em’ back?”

Steve laughed at that. He hadn’t laughed in ages. He let himself lay down on the ground, breathing, feeling the cool pavement under him, his sweat cooling, making him too chilly.

It was dusk.

“You wanna make this a thing?” Hargrove said.

“Sure,” Steve said, shrugging. “I dunno if I’ll ever play like that again.”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” Billy muttered.

Steve ended up playing Billy every day that week. He ended up playing just as well. It seemed when he played Billy he was a super star and it wasn’t because Billy was bad either, Billy was _good_. He played better in gym too that week.

But he was still exhausted, still wandering the woods, carrying his bat. Just in case, just in case. It was stupid.

 _Stupid idiot_.

He heard it whenever his father so much as looked at him, even if it was just to ask how school had gone that day.

On Friday Steve noticed Billy had a weird sort of cut under his eye like maybe somebody had thrown something at his head, which wouldn’t be unusual since he was Billy Hargrove and goaded nearly everyone. Steve noted it at school but didn’t think of it much. He was a little convinced by a nightmare that the Upside Down might be communicating through the television which, sure, _sounded_ crazy but Mrs. Byers had seen that ghost image on that video tape...

“Jesus, Harrington!”

He’d started to pass out and nearly fell down on top of Billy during an afterschool game. He stood bent over, clutching his knees.

“You sick?” Hargrove said. “Don’t give me your shit. I can’t get sick-”

“I’m not _sick_ , I’m fuckin’ tired.”  He wasn’t sure when he’d last eaten for that matter.

“Just sit down, dumbass,” Billy muttered, and pushed his shoulders down so Steve would sit on the pavement. “Fainting like some Victorian chick. I should get smelling salts.”

Steve snorted at that. “I can’t sleep,” he muttered. And what was the goddamn point of saying that to Billy Hargrove? Hargrove didn’t give a shit. Then again maybe that was the appeal: Hargrove didn’t give a shit.

“No?” Billy lay down on the pavement again, one knee propped up. He was chewing on a fingernail, probably because he didn’t have a cigarette in his hand. “Try counting sheep? Warm milk? Blow job?” Steve only raised his eyebrows at that. Billy vaguely gestured around him. “I mean from some nubile young Hawkins tramp who’s willing. Right? They’re not hard to come by. In my experience.”

They weren’t, but Steve hadn’t been looking either.

“I don’t think that shit would help,” Steve mumbled. He frowned at Billy’s eye, it looked a little worse when he was laying down. “So what’s with the eye?”

“My dad threw a blender at me,” Billy said, ever so casual.

“At...your _head_?” Steve said.

“Yeah. Your old man doesn’t knock you around?”

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it. “Not like that.” He lay down on the pavement next to Billy.

“Lucky you,” Billy muttered, and chewed on his thumbnail, looking away.

Steve felt soft and relaxed. He turned his head and his direct line of sight was the curve of Billy’s thigh from under his gym shorts.

“He shouldn’t hit you,” Steve muttered sleepily.

“Fuck, how sweet of you Harrington,” Billy said, dry as a bone. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

“Asshole,” Steve said. His eyes felt heavy. He was hungry probably, that’s why he’d passed out. Or maybe he needed to drink more water… He thought of grasping Billy’s thighs in his hands.

“ _Dustin!”_

Steve woke up with a little gasp and grimaced. His neck was stiff as hell. He was also freezing and it was dark, he was on the ground...

He turned his head and saw Billy lying right beside him on the pavement, eyes wide open as he stared up at the sky. Billy’s hand came up with a cigarette and he took a drag.

“What the hell,” Steve mumbled.

“You fell asleep,” Billy reported.

“What time is it?”

“I dunno. Ten?”

“You just let me sleep?”

Billy didn’t say anything.

Billy Hargrove had been laying there the whole time while he’d slept. Steve didn’t even know what to think of that.

“You wanna get some food?” Billy said quietly. He sat up and took a drag.

“Nothing’s open,” Steve said, stretching.

“The liquor store by ‘76 is open.”

Steve wanted to. Which wasn’t any weirder than anything else lately, he supposed.

“I don’t feel like driving,” Steve said.

“I’ll drive. Leave your car here. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

Steve looked at him, disbelieving. Billy only shrugged. “Or not, Harrington. Your fucking call.”

“Alright.”

Steve threw on his t-shirt, even though it felt disgusting at this point. Billy only wore a hoodie over his bare chest. The Camaro smelled like cigarettes and old fast food. But the seats were more comfortable than Steve’s. He sat back and watched Billy drive. The radio was playing Eurythmics which did not at all seem Billy-like but he didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“I’m a fucking piece of shit,” Steve muttered, because if you thought something enough then eventually it was going to come out of your mouth.

“Join the club,” Billy said, without missing a beat.

Hawkins’ Liquor  was lousy with good bad junk food. They argued over which Hostess product was the best. Steve was stolidly a Ding Dong man and Billy liked Sno Balls. Each one thought the other’s choice was ridiculous.

“They’re both full of jizz anyway,” Billy said shrugging, and picked up a bag of Fritos. Steve laughed at that.

They bought Pibb. Billy tried to buy whiskey. No dice.

They’d parked by the gas station and now they sat on the hood looking out at Hawkins’ main drag. The place was already empty at 10:30 on a weeknight. It felt as if they had the place entirely to themselves. Steve thought he heard a noise and jerked, scanning the block, wishing it was a little more lit, wishing for his bat, which was in the trunk of his car at school. He kept making motions as if to grab it, which probably also looked insane to Hargrove.

“You’re kind of a jumpy guy, huh?” Billy said, and took a huge bite of a Sno Ball.

Steve ate an entire Ding Dong and washed it down with Pibb before he answered. “Some shit went down a while ago. Kinda fucked with my head.”

“Whatever was going on at the Byers,” Billy said.

Steve looked at him in surprise and wondered if he had something new to be worried about. But Billy only shrugged and drank his soda.

“I don’t know what the hell was going on,” Billy said. “Max told me they were playing some game that got out of hand and you were there to make sure they didn’t hurt themselves? Or some shit? Doesn’t explain why she took my car.”

Steve chewed on his lip. He wasn’t about to tell Billy Hargrove what had happened, friendly pick-up games or no. “We went back to pick you up,” Steve said instead. “But you were already gone.”

“I don’t really remember,” Billy said. “Woke up and started wandering home. Beat Max there, she didn’t get home til fucking one in the morning.”

Steve put two and two together and looked at Billy who was staring into his empty can of Pibb.

“He beat the shit out of me,” Billy muttered. He looked up at Steve and smiled a little. “Then again I beat the shit out of you, didn’t I?”

“That’s different,” Steve said.

“Whatever.”

Billy gave him a cigarette and they smoked and sat in the dark cold quiet. Steve really couldn’t stop looking around for phantom demodogs, it was like a tick. He saw Billy noticing. He had no idea how to explain that.

“You get attacked by wild dogs or something, Harrington?” Billy said.

“Something like that,” Steve said.

“Is it ‘cause I kicked your ass?”

Steve shot him a look and Billy shrugged.

“Sometimes I dream about that,” Steve said, because it was late and the night was weird enough anyway. “But I’m not scared of you or anything, Hargrove.”

“Yeah, I can tell,  I play basketball with you.” Billy grinned, his tongue between his teeth. Steve kind of hated how sexy he thought that was.

When Steve finished his cigarette he said, “You ever just want to beat the shit out of something til you don’t have to think anymore?”

Billy snorted. “Nah, I have no idea, man.”

“I figured,” Steve said, and smiled down at his hands.

They both laughed and then they laughed too hard even though it wasn’t that funny. But the air felt a little different, a little more electric, and in the surreal quiet deserted night, it was as if anything could happen. Something like Steve putting his hand on Billy’s thigh; freckled and dusted with blonde hair, stretching out from under his gym shorts. He didn’t do that, but he sat and thought about it, and felt Billy’s eyes on him.

“This is weird,” Steve said, crossing his arms on his knees.

“Weird bad?” Billy said softly.

“Weird good.”

Billy drove Steve home and Steve had a grip on the handle to open his door and once he did that the night would be over, which felt wrong somehow. This couldn’t just be it. Next to him, Billy was staring out the windshield, his brows furrowed, his mouth parted.

It was the stupidest idea he’d ever had, Steve thought. But Steve was stupid.

“Billy?” Steve whispered, and Billy turned his head, not looking at him. He was breathing funny.

Steve moved slow, giving Billy every chance to flip out and probably sock him. But he didn’t, there was just the awkward sound of Steve shifting in the car, the squeak of the leather and the rustle of their clothes as he leaned over and closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Billy’s. Billy responded well and immediately, and Steve felt his mouth open, the push of his tongue, a hand coming up to tug at his hair. They kissed for a while but Steve felt tired in his bones making him ache and he finally pulled away.

“Okay,” Steve whispered.

Billy was absently clutching the corner of Steve’s shirt and Steve was getting out of the car before he let go.

“Don’t forget to pick me up tomorrow,” Steve said.

“Right.” Billy was looking at him like Steve was Lars Ulrich. It took Steve a minute to shut the door and go inside the house. Billy didn’t drive away until the door was closed  behind Steve.

  
  


In the morning, Billy showed up a couple minutes earlier than expected so that Steve dashed by his parents at the table with their grapefruits and coffee, almost ruffling his dad’s stiff silver hair.

At the front door he composed himself.

When he got in the car he _started_ to lean over to kiss Billy who turned his head away and coughed. “Max is here.”

“Yep,” Max said from the backseat.

“Hey Max,” Steve said, sitting back, a little dizzy.

“What’s going on?” Max said.

Steve and Billy both said: “Nothing!”

“Oookay.”

They dropped off Max and Steve said to Billy, “You wanna do something after school?”

“Yeah. What?”

They stood in the parking lot while Billy got his morning smoke. The sky was particularly blue that day. Steve thought it was making Billy’s already bright eyes brighter. He was wearing a blue shirt too, open a few of buttons.

 _Billy blue_.

“I want to…” Steve bit his lip and took a deep breath. “I want to beat the shit out of a bus.”

Billy said, “A bus.”

“It’s in a junkyard.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, shrugging. “That sounds good.”

This was about the reaction Steve had expected, so that was nice.

  
  


School felt different all day long with the anticipation of hanging out with Billy later and the entirely new subtext when they caught each other’s eye in the hall or when Billy’s hand brushed his in class before he glanced back at Steve over his shoulder.

But in Trig Steve started to panic and hid in the bathroom, perched on top of the flusher. Billy apparently excused himself a few minutes later because there was a knock on the stall door while Steve was in there trying to convince himself that nothing was coming through the walls. He hadn’t even been thinking of demogorgons, he’d been thinking about his father who had mentioned something a few days ago about Steve meeting business associates. He wondered if his father talked to his business associates about how stupid his son was.

_Stupid piece of shit._

“Harrington?” Billy’s voice echoed.

“What?” His voice came out shaky. He’d been crying and his eyes would be red.

“Are you...being attacked by wild dogs?”

“Uh huh.”

“Lemme in?”

Steve reached over and unlocked the stall and Billy slipped in and locked it behind him. Steve hid his face in his hands. Billy just stood there awkwardly for way too long while Steve refused to look at him.

“Where are the dogs?” Billy said, not unkindly.

“Sometimes I think they’re coming through the walls,” Steve said, unmoving.

Billy reached behind Steve and knocked on the tile. “Seems pretty solid.”

“Yeah.”

“Steve-”

“Why are you nice to me?’ Steve said into his hands. “You hate everybody.”

“Thought that was kinda obvious to tell you the truth.”

“Well, I’m pretty dumb so…”

“I just…” Billy voice sounded softer than Steve had ever heard it. He sounded like a different person. “I just like you. I dunno, man.”

“Why? I’m a worthless piece of shit,” Steve mumbled. “Just ask my father, he’ll tell you all about it.”

“Well…” Billy snorted a laugh. “My dad thinks I’m a worthless piece of shit too so…”

Steve sniffed and sat up, crossing his arms. “You’re not worthless.”

“Okay…” Billy spread his hands with flourish. “So…”

Steve only stared down, not on board. He scratched his wrist.

“Harrington,” Billy said. “Listen, I think the vast majority of people in this shit town are worthless. But...I like _you_. So...logic says...you’re _not_ worthless...”

Steve gazed up at him and shrugged.

“Okay,” Billy said. “Well...I’ll take a shrug for now.”

“I think I’m dying sometimes,” Steve said. “For...no reason. I’ll be like worrying about some other shit and then I think I’m dying.”

“That sounds like your brain’s just fuckin’ with you, man.”

“Yeah...” Steve nodded at Billy and said, “What do you like about me?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“You better come up with some shit right now or I’m not talking to you-”

“ _Okay_. Fuck. I…” Billy licked his lips and looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Steve knew that feeling. “You never back down,” Billy said in a rush. “If I push you, you push back. You..stand up to me.”

“You _like_ that.”

Billy had a shy little smile on his face and he looked up at the ceiling and said, “I mean...kinda?”

“What else?”

“I like...the way you play basketball…” Billy voice got low and quiet.  “I like that fucking goofy face you make when don’t know the answer in Trig.  I like the way you push back your hair and… I like...your shoulders and your back and your mouth and your eyes and probably your dick and… the way you walk and… You’re a huge fucking preppy dork.”

Steve blinked at him, his heart thudding. “Oh. Um… I dunno about that last one-”

“You’re a preppy dork, Harrington,” Billy said.

“But you like that.”

“God help us all,” Billy mumbled.

Steve pursed his lips and finally said, “S’pretty good list.”

Billy stepped into his space and leaned in and kissed Steve softly.

“I’m kinda fucked up,” Steve said.

“So am I, amigo,” Billy said. “But don’t go tellin’ anybody.”

  
  


At the junkyard, Steve took his bat in hand and gave Billy a crowbar from his trunk. Steve didn’t stand on ceremony but hiked down the little dirt hill into the clearing between the scrap heaps and strode up to the bus and took a swing at the giant rear view mirror. He watched metal crack and splinter and felt the satisfaction of seeing the mirror shatter while his face was reflected in it. He thought of all those monsters coming at him, of the kids screaming, of the hard cold fear of them being killed on his watch.

Dusk set in and they beat up the bus.

It took a few hits for the whole mirror to go down, by which time Billy was ripping holes in the body. Steve thought of demodogs in his house, of demogorgons in his yard finding him and eating his face, of D’art going after Dustin in his nightmares, and he screamed while breaking every window and light. He swung away until he couldn’t lift his bat anymore and finally dropped it, plopping on the ground, dripping with sweat. Billy sat down next to him and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“So what the fuck was that anyway?” Billy said.

“It’s a really long story.”

“Yeah. We got time.”

Steve slumped over so his head was resting in Billy’s lap and he set his hand atop Billy’s thigh, all freckled and dusted with blonde hair. He rubbed that warm skin with his thumb.

“Imagine,” Steve said, “that this world is upside down…”

  
  
  


 


End file.
